


Kaleidoscope

by Morveren



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Original Character(s), kinda i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 14:20:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13615161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morveren/pseuds/Morveren
Summary: The Kazekage’s wedding was the sort of news story that could make or break a young reporter’s career.Too bad that neither you nor the Kazekage was interested in getting interviewed by a plucky young journalist from Konoha.But what sort of person had ever let themselves be deterred by a firm “no”?You’ve got to agree to an interview at some point, right?Right?





	Kaleidoscope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MisterPseudonymous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisterPseudonymous/gifts).



The reporter was a pretty little thing; blonde and blue-eyed with the kind of skin that burned easily underneath Suna’s hot sun. 

When Kuzunoha—Kuzu, to her friends—announced that she was leaving Konoha, with all its greenery and gentle weather, for the scorching hot desert that was Suna, her family thought that she had gone insane. Her father had tried to talk her out of it while her mother insisted that it was “just a phase”. 

Several of her friends told Kuzu that if she was  _ that  _ thirsty for adventure, then maybe she should try accompanying some of the ninja teams that did missions outside of their village.

Kuzu had dismissed them all, and here she was, a month of rough travel later, with sand in her hair and her clothes smelling of camel.

See, the problem with her parents and her friends was that they misread her, Kuzu wasn’t crazy so much as  _ hungry.  _ The Kazekage’s wedding to a girl from one of the nomad tribes was a story that could make or break any reporter’s career. It had all the earmarks of a hit story: a powerful political figure, a mysterious girl and if the rumors were true, protests from both sides about the marriage.

It didn’t help that the Kazekage was naturally tight-lipped about the whole affair. 

And you…well, you had your own way of dealing with things, that much Kuzu had to admit. 

The Kazekage had always been a bit camera shy, that much was obvious. 

But getting you, his fiancee, to talk about him in front of a camera was quite literally the next best thing. 

So when she first tried to reach out to the Kazekage in the hopes of an interview, Kuzu had written letters to the both of you, figuring that you would be easier to talk to than the famously taciturn redhead.

Kuzu had figured wrong.

While Gaara had responded with a short, curt refusal stating that he preferred to keep his affairs private, you had responded with a cheerful handwritten letter, saying that while you’d  _ love  _ to have the chance to sit down and talk about all the sordid details involving your relationship with the Kazekage (your words), you were far too busy preparing for the wedding to schedule a meeting.

That was fair enough, Kuzu had thought. Weddings were stressful things. something that Kuzu’s mother, a seamstress, often complained about. The young reporter couldn’t fault you for being unable to meet with her.

But when her next letter for a meeting was again rejected, this time with an excuse that you were planning to perform a ritualistic, naked dance to ensure fertility, the reporter started growing suspicious. 

Haru, her cameraman, had read your letter and burst out laughing.

“She’s not serious, is she?” he had asked, using the letter to fan himself. 

“We don’t know much about her tribe’s rituals,” Kuzu had said sourly. “There could very well  _ be  _ some naked dance to ensure fertility.”

“She’s fucking with us,” her partner had said cheerfully. “Absolutely,100%, fucking with us.” 

_ He could afford laugh _ , Kuzu thought to herself, sending a halfhearted glare in Haru’s direction. Haru was an old hat in the news industry and got offers wherever he went. This story was just another job for him. 

For Kuzu, however, this was her shot at stardom. 

Nothing else would have dragged her from the streets of Konoha to hot, dusty Suna. 

Nothing else would have made her ride a camel and travel across the desert for nearly a week so she could meet the Kazekage in person. 

Your third letter was still tucked in her pocket, part-talisman and part-reminder. Your refusal came as no surprise to Kuzu, but the reason for it had Haru howling with laughter.

According to your letter, you couldn’t go to an interview because you were planning on spending that week fasting, and didn’t want to leave yours and Gaara’s home in case you fainted.

That was sane enough, in Kuzu’s opinion.

Then she had read the next part.

You were fasting because, according to you, within a moon’s turn (again, your words), you were planning on slaughtering a bull and eating its heart--raw--to ensure strong, male sons for you and the Kazekage.

At that point, Kuzu had to agree with Haru: you were fucking with her. 

Well, a person was harder to refuse than words on a paper. Surely, once Kuzu had set up a meeting with the Kazekage, she’d be able to argue her way into an interview. Maybe once she got a hold of you, you’d be able to realize that  _ this was not a game,  _ that Kuzu’s career  _ could be at stake  _ and--

“That’s Suna, huh?” Haru’s voice broke her out of her thoughts. “Pretty.”

_ Finally _ , Kuzu thought to herself. Her clothes were soaked with sweat, and she was beginning to feel rather faint. Without giving it much thought, she pulled a skin of water from her hip and wet her lips with it. Any more and she’d be tempted to gulp it all down, and as her guide had been constantly lecturing her, she had to  _ conserve water. _

Suna. 

Its appearance came as a surprise to Kuzu and for a moment she thought that it was just another mirage, born of the heat and her own exhaustion.

But no, as they got closer, Suna got bigger. 

And it was just as ugly as she expected. 

Great buildings made out of dried clay, some decorated with various paints and symbols, while others were left bare. Not a single green thing in sight.

For a moment, Kuzu longed to be back in Konoha, with all its trees and its flowers, and the twittering birds that she had chased as a child. 

She didn’t want to be in hot and dusty Suna, where the only splash of color was the market and the caravans parked near it.

Kuzu mentally marked the market as a place to visit, eyeing the caravans with interest. 

_ Especially  _ the ones with the shining white sails, somehow left untouched by the dust and the sand.

It was said that your tribe traveled across the desert on  _ ships.  _

And if Kuzu was going to have her way—and she  _ was— _ you were going to tell her all about them.

In front of a camera, with Kuzu hanging onto your every word. 

“Hey, that’s them, right?” she heard Haru ask. 

She looked up and she  _ saw him.  _ The Kazekage, a stoic figure dressed in the green-and-white robe of his office. Kuzu had to admit, he cut quite the impressive figure, 

_ Snap. _

Haru had been quick to raise his camera and snap a picture and Kuzu wondered if he had also been quick enough to capture the figure right next to the Kazekage.

You. 

A young woman, garbed in a vibrant red robe. Your family, the Akehouko-sha, wore little jewelry and because of their nomadic lifestyle, hardly collected knick-knacks that would drag their caravans down.  

Instead, they  _ wore  _ their riches, the color of the dye and the cut of the cloth serving as a testament to one’s wealth and status. 

Kuzu wondered what your red robe meant. Were you poor, rich? Did your family have a high opinion of you? Was it some sort of robe that one wore before the wedding?

The Akehouka-sha were notoriously secretive about their practices, not least of all of their own brand of ninjutsu that allowed them to travel across the desert on  _ ships _ . 

“That’s her, huh?” Haru asked. “The Kazekage’s fiancee?” 

“I think so. Try and get a picture,” Kuzu said quickly. 

Haru obediently raised his camera, but then something strange happened.

The wind, previously a gentle breeze--at least by Suna standards--suddenly grew fierce, blowing hard around them until Haru was forced to hug the camera to his chest, in case it flew from his hands.

Kuzu’s long blonde hair came out of its elegant braid and thrashing about her head like whips.

“What the hell?” Kuzu shrieked and for a single moment, she thought that they had suddenly walked into a sandstorm. 

Then, as soon as it came, the strong wind died, leaving Kuzu’s beautiful hair in a tangled mess.

“What happened?” Haru asked, checking his camera to ensure that the wind hadn’t damaged it.

For some reason, Kuzu felt compelled to look up at the platform where you were still standing. Your loose robes flapped freely in the wind and you were looking straight at them. 

You were too far away to make eye contact with but you raised your hand.

And  _ waved.  _

Kuzu’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m thinking someone  _ definitely _ doesn’t want to be interviewed,” she declared, nodding in your direction.

“What-- _ her? _ ” Haru gawked. “ _ She  _ caused this?” 

“Who else?” the reporter fumed. “Look at her! She looks so smug.” 

As she watched, she saw the Kazekage take notice of who exactly you were waving to. Despite the distance, Kuzu could feel his disapproval. 

The Kazekage exchanged a few words with you and then, took your arm and led you inside, out of sight from Haru’s camera.

Kuzu didn’t fail to notice the arm wrapped around your waist.

“That’s definitely her,” she declared. 

Instead of getting angry, however, the cameraman looked amused. “And I’m guessing that the fact that neither of the happy couple wants to be interviewed doesn’t change our plans?” 

“Are you kidding me?” Kuzu snapped. “This is a challenge to her, a  _ challenge.  _ Well, goddammit, it’s on. I’ll interview those two if it’s the last thing I do!” 

 

*********

_ You found him some time after sunset, still hunched over his desk, his eyes aching after reading so many reports.  _

_ “The reporter’s been asking around about us,” you said. Despite the veil that covered nearly half of your face, Gaara could tell you were amused.  _

_ You’d been outside again, that much he could tell from the veil; you usually wore it to protect your face from the sand and the heat. Though once, you had told him that compared to the sandstorms you had once walked through, the rough winds in Suna was a breeze. _

_ You’d been outside again, though you had promised him that you would spend most of your time indoors, at least until the wedding’s over. Gaara decided not to bring it up; he didn’t want another fight about safety and independence and  _ the wedding.  _ He simply watched as you removed your veil and shook the sand from it, offering him a smile that made his chest ache. _

_ You noticed, however, you always notice whenever something bothered him. _

_ “Something wrong?” you asked, and you wrapped your arms around him, your sleeves pushed up enough that he could feel your bare skin against his neck, cool where he was warm. _

_ Gaara grunted. “Headache.”  _

_ “Okay,” you said, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Now, what’s really wrong?” _

_ He frowned, fighting the urge to turn around and kiss you, full on the mouth.  _

_ “You said you wouldn’t go outside,” he said, and already, he’s thinking about how he didn’t want to fight. Not tonight, not with the wedding so close. _

_ But instead of flaring up, you held him closer. “Oh, that?” you said. “I was with Temari and Kankuro the whole time, I was perfectly fine.”  _

_ When he didn’t respond, you said, “It’s been  _ weeks,  _ Gaara. I’m going a little stir-crazy, I’m not used to being indoors for such a long time. Heck, I’m not used to being in one place for such a long time.” _

_ You kissed him again, and a flush of amusement went through him as he wondered if you were trying to placate him or you were simply being affectionate. _

_ With you, it could easily one or the other. _

_ Instead of answering, Gaara stared down at your hands, where his ring now rested.  _

_ But it wasn’t the only adornment on your fingers. _

_ Knots and knots of brightly colored cloth wound around your fingers like snakes. One of them, a small, unobtrusive blue ring at the base of your pinky finger was slightly loosened. _

_ He knew that this was from earlier when you had loosened a knot and released a wind that had left the reporter’s hair in tangles.  _

_ Gaara tried, very hard, not to think about how after the wedding, his ring would be the only thing around your fingers. Those knots have been there for as long as he could remember. Whenever you touched him, he’d feel them against his skin, and he’d shiver at the texture. _

_ When he had told you about it, you had laughed and told him you felt the same thing about his sand armor.  _

_ “You’re sure you’re okay with this?” he asked, softly, as if this is the first time he’s asked it instead of the hundredth. _

_ “Sure,” you said easily as if it was easy to give up an entire way of living. “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here, now would I?”  _

_ Gaara didn’t respond. _

_ You leaned down, your cheek pressed against his, a soft little sigh at the way his sand armor felt against your skin.  _

_ “Gaara,” you said, and even without looking at you, he could tell that you were serious. “You’re worth all of this. You know that, right?”  _

_ Gaara had to wonder if he was.  _


End file.
